DA YS ON THE ILLINOIS. 1 1 5 



From the margins of the sloughs that every- 

 where threaded the dense groves of sycamore, 

 cottonwood, and willow, the woodcock sprung in 

 summer with that mellow whistle of the wing- 

 feathers that brings the gun whirling from the 

 shoulder. And from the islands where the yel- 

 low spike of the golden club and the bright red 

 of the polygonum illumined the shades of vines 

 that clambered over piles of drift, he came twist- 

 ing out in that spiral line of brown that so 

 quickly finds the dense foliage above. 



Life was so abundant in these bottoms at this 

 time that one need not be lonely even when only 

 rowing about the sloughs from curiosity. The 

 wings of the dove whistled on every breeze, and 

 blackbirds in legions rose roaring from the green 

 ranks of the reeds. Hundreds were mirrored in 

 the water as they passed over it or sat in strings 

 upon the overhanging branches. Some in bur- 

 nished purple and bronze, some with red-barred 

 wings, and others with golden throats, they were 

 everywhere from morning until night, and as 

 tame as snowbirds on a winter morning. In the 

 depths of the timber, where the hunter or fisher- 

 man rarely penetrated, the heavy rattle of the 



